


Wild at Heart

by HardNoctLife



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, City!Ignis, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Rural!Gladio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: This is the full version of the story I wrote for the Parallel Love - Gladnis AU Zine.When Ignis' car breaks down in the middle of the Lucian countryside, he has to rely on the hospitality of a handsome Chocobo rancher.But in the process of getting his car fixed, he receives more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 32
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

It is an open-oven-door kinda hot, and the inside of the barn traps heat better than most would imagine despite its worn wooden walls and empty loft. A single man hefts a bale of hay over one muscled shoulder, an expansive eagle tattoo spreading its wings across his back as he does so, bare chest glistening with a mixture of sweat and dirt that colors his already browned skin an even darker hue.

He hears the excited twitter of chocobos in the field outside as he tosses the bale into a carefully crafted pile, and he pauses, turning to glance out the open sliding doors to the winding road that leads to his ranch. The air shimmers with the heat, making it difficult to see who is methodically making its way closer.

Curiosity getting the best of him, the man wipes his hands on his faded blue jeans and wanders out into the sun, shielding his eyes from the unforgiving rays to watch the stranger’s approach.

When the person finally draws close enough for him to see, they come into view with amazing clarity. A man in dark slacks, made darker with perspiration, wearing a white pinstripe long-sleeve button-down (complete with suspenders), and a pair of glasses that are unable to soften or hide piercing green eyes, sharper than the edge of any blade. A cloud of dust settles on the top of the smart-dressed man’s naga-skin boots as he comes to an abrupt halt in front of the barn, squinting at the bear of a human who leans nonchalantly against it.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” The man adjusts his glasses, accented voice making it clear that he is very, _very,_ far from home.

Hiding his surprise at hearing anything other than a country twang, the sweat-soaked man answers. “Sure am. Name’s Gladio. What can I do you for?”

The two men stare at one another for a moment, unabashedly sizing each other up. At first glance, they are as different as night and day, one dark and big-bodied, the other fair-skinned and slender.

Feeling more than a little out of place, the newcomer clears his throat. “My car broke down not far from here. I was hoping you might direct me to the nearest repair shop.”

Gladio is shaking his head before his visitor can finish. “Ain’t any, mister…?”

The man fills in the blank with little prompting. “Ignis. Ignis Scientia.” There is the slightest flicker of a frown across Gladio’s features, but it is gone in an instant, replaced with a stoic expression. 

“Unless you wanna trek all the way to Lestallum. Even by chocobo it’s a good half-a-day’s ride though.” Gladio watches as the troubled Mister Scientia places a finger to his lips and chews on his bottom lip as he deliberates.

“Perhaps I could use your phone then? I’m en route to Insomnia and I mustn’t delay.” Gladio tries not to snort at Ignis’s word choice, the vowels softened by the foreign accent. Folding his tattooed arms so that his biceps bulge with the motion, Gladio cocks his head to one side, hazel eyes catching the light and turning them the color of honey.

“Or I might could have a look at it for you. I’m no expert, but I know a thing or two about cars.” The offer is accompanied by a nonchalant shrug, as if to say: _It’s no trouble_.

Ignis _really_ looks at Gladio then, taking in the tall man’s sun-kissed abdomen, gaze lingering on the eagle head glaring intimidatingly from the left side of his chest. There is a jagged scar across one of his eyes, and his long hair is tied back and dripping evidence of a hard day’s work, sides underneath buzzed in a military style. Gladio isn’t at all what Ignis had been expecting to see when he strolled up—but then again, the city-dweller has never been stranded in the Lucian countryside before.

It only takes Ignis a couple of seconds to weigh his options and decide on the most practical solution. “Well, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble… I would be in your debt.” He barely resists the urge to incline his head, a habit of his profession that he can only assume would be wasted on the country bumpkin.

Gladio smiles more kindly than Ignis would expect for someone of his stature. “Not at all. It would be my pleasure.” He extends his hand then. Ignis hesitates before stepping forward to take it.

Gladio’s grip is firm and tight, calloused fingers rubbing over soft skin.

* * *

Ignis tried to hide his surprise when Gladio pushed his vehicle all the way to the ranch from the road, attempting not to gape as the man’s muscles rippled like a behemoth’s when he did. He had offered to help, of course, but Gladio adamantly resisted the proposition, saying, “It would be a shame to get those nice clothes of yours dirty.”

Fuming at the backhanded compliment, Ignis had decided, _fine, let him struggle_ —and then he had thought better of it— and with wide-eyed wonder, no less. Once the car had been parked safely on the property, Gladio ushered Ignis inside, the coolness of the air inside the farmhouse making them both shiver. Ignis noted that Gladio was barely breathing hard, as if pushing a two-ton rolling piece of steel nearly a mile was a simple feat.

_Who exactly is this man?_

“Water? Coffee?” Gladio offers off-handedly, walking away from where Ignis stands in the foyer.

“Water would be lovely, thank you.”

Ignis shrugs out of his boots and places them by the door (as was proper) before scanning the quaint farmhouse curiously. Dust motes swirl in rays of light as he takes small steps forward, wooden floorboards creaking beneath the man’s weight as he drags a rolling suitcase behind him. The decorations in the house are simple—a mounted set of dual horns, a woven tapestry hanging from a wall—but one thing in particular catches Ignis’s eye, a family crest in a cracked frame, so small and dusty that he might have missed it if the sun wasn’t hitting it just right.

Stopping midstride to squint at it, Ignis wanders over to wipe the glass with one finger to get a better look. He gazes intently at an eagle holding a gladiolus blossom, the name AMICITIA written beneath it in bold print.

_It can’t be…_

“You coming, Specs?” Gladio barks from the next room.

“It’s Ignis,” the man corrects with a huff, turning quickly away from the crest to follow Gladio’s voice. He comes to stand in the doorway of a kitchen much too small for a man of his host’s size, observing as Gladio bends over the sink to splash his face with water. Blinking one eye open to find Ignis staring again, he straightens, grinning.

“Find somethin’ ya like?” Gladio drawls, obviously amused.

“ _What_?” Ignis retorts, arms folding across his chest defensively. He can feel his face flushing, although he cannot figure out for the life of him why. All he knows is that he is not used to seeing a large, shirtless man hunched over and dripping wet, smiling at him like a behemoth eyeing its next meal.

Gladio shakes his head, chuckling. “Nothin’.” He then pulls a glass off a shelf, filling it from the faucet before holding it out. Ignis, realizing he is meant to take it, draws near to do so, not meeting Gladio’s eyes. “I won’t bite,” he adds.

“How do you know I won’t?” Ignis shoots back. He swallows down the refreshing water in several gulps.

“Too desperate,” Gladio says, that infuriating drawl returning. Then, leaning in closer, he takes hold of one of Ignis’s suspenders. It makes him jerk back, and the elastic stretches.

“What are you—?”

“Too _clean_ ,” Gladio murmurs. His voice rumbles like a daemon’s growl, sending heat shooting through Ignis’s abdomen. Forcing himself to lift his chin, Ignis’s gaze locks with Gladio’s wild brown eyes. “You ever work a day in your life, Specs?” It’s spoken as a challenge, or maybe a threat, but Ignis isn’t one to back down from either.

“As I said before, it’s _Ignis_.” The bespectacled man steps back indignantly, forcing Gladio to release the suspender with a _snap_. “And I’ll have you know, I have a very important job, thank you very much.”

“Mmhmm, good for you.” Gladio turns away, finding a dish towel to wipe himself with. Ignis wrinkles his nose in dismay when Gladio hangs it back up to be reused later. “Well, _Mr_. Scientia, there is a bedroom just through there, and some food in the fridge. Make yourself at home,” he announces before moving to leave the kitchen.

“Wait!” Ignis blurts before he can help himself. Gladio pauses, blinking comically, head tilting into a question mark. Deciding to save his real inquiry for another time, Ignis fumbles to find a suitable replacement. “What about you?” he manages to say.

Gladio snorts. “Me? I’m gonna hit the hay. Another long day tomorrow. Don’t you worry your pretty little head though. I’ll ring up my pal and ask for them to bring those parts you need by the end of the week.”

Ignis chooses to ignore the sarcasm. “The end of the week?” The nervousness must have shown in his face, because Gladio crosses his arms, taking on a defensive stance. 

“Sorry, that’s as good as I can do on short notice.”

“No—it’s fine, really. Thank you,” Ignis says in a rush. What other choice does he have? It seems like his work will just have to wait. Surely, everyone back home would manage without him. At least, he hoped they would.

“Might I use your phone?”

Gladio nods in confirmation. “There’s one in the guest room. Feel free.” The man walks away then, leaving his new houseguest to his own devices.

Not particularly hungry, Ignis makes his way into the modest bedroom just off the kitchen, leaving his suitcase inside the door. There is a bed just long enough to lie in without his feet hanging off the end, a bookshelf with selections that look as if they hadn’t been touched in years, and a writing desk that would be perfect for a child, but is a bit cramped for a man with legs as long as Ignis’s. He also notes that he has his own private bathroom, a welcome commodity.

Finding a rotary phone at the corner of the desk, Ignis takes it from its cradle, dialing a number he knows by heart. The call is short, just long enough to relay the message. _I was delayed due to unforeseen circumstances—yes, probably by the end of the week—please convey my apologies to His Majesty._

Ignis nearly mentions Gladio, but something holds him back. A stupid sense of honor, or gratitude for the man’s generosity, he surmises. Or maybe, just to conceal his own fascination. Regardless of the real reason, Ignis lays down shortly after hanging up the phone, drifting off to the melody of the countryside outside his window, crickets’ song and chocobos’ calls.

* * *

Ignis sleeps better than he expected, woken by the sun as it wriggles its way between the blinds to fall across his face. Blinking his eyes open, he retrieves his glasses from the bedside table, the fog on his mind lifting. Once it clears, he remembers for the first time that he is not in his own home.

There is the sound of a chocobo warbling and of birds chirping outside, but more importantly, the smell of coffee.

It is the smell that ultimately rouses him, and after a few minutes in the bathroom, he finds his way into the kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee is already brewed and waiting, an empty mug set beside it. Through the window above the sink, Ignis can make out the back of Gladio’s head from where the man is sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, steam from his cup curling into the morning air.

Filling the mug on the counter to the brim, Ignis wanders out the nearest door and onto the wrap-around porch, which overlooks a fenced field where chocobos roam freely. Gladio inclines his head when he hears the door open, lifting his drink in greeting.

“Mornin’ sleepy head.”

“Ignis,” he mutters half-heartedly, taking a sip of his—then another, impressed by its quality. The man may not know much about etiquette, but he knows how to brew the perfect cup of coffee. “Is it late?” Ignis’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, taking in the sun that is peeking over the nearby barn.

“Just about eight, I bet. All the animals have been fed and watered, now I’ve got to check on the fields.” Gladio takes a deep swallow of his beverage, humming a little in his delight. Ignis hides his surprise behind the rim of his mug. If he were honest, he usually woke up around six am, but something about the farmhouse had lulled him fast asleep. He had slept soundly in its comfortable embrace.

“You’ve been up for a while, then?” Ignis takes a seat in an empty chair across from Gladio, silk pajama pants and shirt rubbing pleasantly against his skin. Gladio, on the other hand, is still shirtless, wearing the same jeans from the night before.

 _Does this man own a shirt?_ Another question that will probably go unanswered, he suspects.

“Just since five. I slept in,” Gladio admits. Ignis chokes on his coffee, sputtering as he clears his throat.

“Slept _in_?” His tone is incredulous. There’s another nod from Gladio.

“Yup. Usually, I try to be up by four. Couldn’t sleep much last night.” He looks away then, quieting.

“If you would like any help, I’d be happy to offer my services,” Ignis says tentatively. He is answered with a skeptical look, Gladio arching one brow in blatant disbelief. “It’s the least I could do,” Ignis presses. Gladio laughs loudly at that, making Ignis blush yet again, and he thinks it is maddening how a complete stranger can elicit such a strong reaction from him.

“No offense, Specs, but what I do requires hard labor. Not really the sort of thing you city folk can handle.”

Maybe it was because he hadn’t yet finished his first cup of coffee and was in sore need of more caffeine, or because all the blood was now rushing to his face instead of his brain, but Ignis felt emboldened, cocky enough to go toe-to-toe with the chiseled rancher. “Try me. You might be surprised at what you’ll discover,” he boasts, glaring over the rims of his glasses.

Gladio slurps long and slow from his mug, gaze half-lidded with interest. “A’ right then, Mr. Scientia. You fancy bein’ my partner? I’ll show you the ropes, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ignis holds the man’s eye for a second longer before glancing back down into his coffee. His heart begins to race, and he blames it on the caffeine, ignoring the practical voice in his head that says that _couldn’t_ be it—he has only taken a handful of sips.

But it is better than the alternative.

* * *

Gladio hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Ignis his work was hard, and Ignis finds himself sweating mere minutes into their first task. Suddenly, it makes sense the man walks around half-naked all the time. Gladio grins when Ignis rolls up his sleeves, then unfastens the top two buttons on his shirt.

“You could just lose the shirt, ya know.”

“I’m fine, thank you for your concern,” Ignis says, hiding embarrassment behind bravado.

“Suit yourself.” Gladio shrugs, pulling a long hose over his shoulder and between the rows of crops before positioning the sprinklers. Ignis copies his action in the next row, gazing out amongst the beds that seem to stretch as far as the eye can see.

“You have quite the selection of produce,” Ignis grunts, clapping his hands together to free them of the dirt that is already staining them brown. “Did you do this all yourself?”

“Mostly. There used to be more farmhands several years back, but everybody left when the owner passed away. But I couldn’t just let the place go to shit,” Gladio explains. “This place has been good to me. Don’t want for nothin’ and make enough money to get by without havin’ to deal with people.” He grunts, amending his statement. “Well, not unless I want to.” Walking back to the side of the barn, Gladio cranks on the water, and Ignis watches as it sprays up in graceful arcs, moving back and forth across the plot of land.

Ignis thumbs over one ripe tomato in appreciation. “Have you ever considered using magic to water these? Or perhaps hiring someone on to work the fields?”

“Not one for magic. I’m better with my hands.” He smirks suggestively, and Ignis pretends not to notice, convincing himself that the heat that sears his face is just from the midday sun. “As for hiring someone…” Gladio shrugs again, “I like to keep to myself. It’s easier that way.”

Ignis bites his tongue to keep the same question that has been plaguing him from tumbling out. “It must get lonely,” he says instead.

“Sometimes,” Gladio agrees. He joins Ignis by his side, watching the sprinklers. “Staying busy helps. Come on, the other plants aren’t gonna water themselves,” he urges, suddenly eager to move on.

“If I may…” Ignis holds his hand out, summoning what looks like a canteen from out of thin air, the smallest flash of blue light indicating there is magic at work. Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up as Ignis tosses it into the sky. With a pop and a crack, it breaks open, showering water down as if from a storm cloud. The ground quickly becomes saturated, and Gladio whistles appreciatively.

“Mighty fancy trick, Specs,” he notes, not bothering to hide his admiration. “They teach all the city boys that?”

“It’s nothing special,” Ignis deflects. “I bet even you could learn how to do it if you applied yourself.” Gladio chuckles and shakes his head, making Ignis blink.

_Did I say something funny?_

“Careful, you prove yourself useful and I might not let you go home,” Gladio claims in a tone that makes it difficult to tell whether he’s teasing. Surprisingly pleased, Ignis feels his lips stretch into a grin, and he is gifted by another raising of eyebrows from Gladio.

“Would you look at that. He _does_ smile.”

“What?” Ignis’s expression quickly reverts to its default: reserved and stoic.

Before turning to walk off, Gladio comes over to clap Ignis on the shoulder. “Looks good on ya, Specs.”

He stares after Gladio, and it takes Ignis five full seconds to realize his mouth is hanging open. Shutting it with a click, he hurries to follow, cursing at the inexplicable fluttering in his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

The two men fall into a rhythm, and little by little, Ignis comes to enjoy his time at the ranch. It is a welcome change of pace from the hustle and bustle of the city, but even so, he is surprised by how quickly he takes to it. There is something about the mindlessness of manual labor, and of the aches of a body put to good use at the end of a long day, that makes Ignis see what might be attractive about living out in the middle of nowhere, free from his typical responsibilities and expectations.

However, despite spending every day working together, Ignis’s host largely remained a mystery. Gladio was charming and attractive yet shied away from talking about himself whenever the topic arose. Ignis tried to get him to open up by asking questions, but Gladio was quick to change the subject, dancing around real answers and deflecting with jokes. Ignis was left to put the pieces of the puzzle together on his own, drawing from the clues he found scattered around the property.

The family crest had been the first hint—books on war and martial arts another, both collecting dust along with an entire armory of weapons Ignis had stumbled upon in the tool shed behind the barn.

It was the third night of their cohabitation when Ignis’s suspicions were confirmed over dinner. Ignis had cooked the fresh-caught trout from a nearby pond, something Gladio had brought back that morning before the day had even started, and then he’d roasted Leidan potatoes, using fresh herbs from the garden to season them. They had sat down to eat when Gladio spoke, smooth and sure.

* * *

“For this I give thanks; may we observe the day in all its glory. He who observes the day, draws on the Draconian’s might, and he who does not, for Him he does not eat, but his soul burns in the Infernian’s hellfire,” Gladio recites, popping a potato into his mouth.

Ignis’s hands pause in cutting into his filet of fish, completing the quote he knew all too well in a hushed tone. “…For this I give thanks; may we observe the day in all its glory. He who observes the day, draws on the Glacian’s love, and he who does not, for Her he does not live, but his soul drowns in the Hydraean’s tsunami.” Gently, he set the knife aside, wiping his hands on the apron he is wearing as he joins Gladio at the table.

“Cosmogony, volume three, chapter six, verse two—the Shield’s prayer,” Gladio finishes, leaning back. He clasps his hands behind his head, satisfied, and Ignis holds the man’s gaze from across the table, heart caught in his throat.

 _No mere country bumpkin would have that memorized._

“Where did you…?” There is no doubt in Ignis’s mind now as to who Gladio is, but he can’t bring himself to speak his revelation aloud.

“My father made me memorize all the books when I was a child. Said it would ‘help’ during tough times,” Gladio explains, scoffing. “He was wrong.” The declaration is rough and jaded, and it makes Ignis’s breath catch alongside where his heart is still wedged awkwardly in his esophagus. Gladio’s eyes burn with a pain deeper than the scars that mar his features, and Ignis finds that he longs to uncover the story behind them, to understand the pieces that make up the man who now has his full attention.

But they continue dinner in silence after that, Ignis turning over the one question in his mind that gnaws at him from the inside-out.

_Gladiolus Amicitia, what are you running from?_

* * *

“You’re certain it’s safe?”

They are standing just inside the corral’s gate after finishing the afternoon chores, and Ignis is eyeing the large animal before him warily. It seems to mirror Ignis’s expression, beak plucking at one of Gladio’s longer strands of hair as its owner dresses it in riding gear.

“Iris is the sweetest of the bunch,” Gladio assures him, chuckling as a couple other chocobos wander closer to them, feathered necks craning with interest as they survey the two men. “You’ve really never ridden a chocobo before?” he asks incredulously.

“Never saw the need. Primarily I travel by car in the city,” Ignis admits. He approaches the bird with one hand outstretched, squinting through the sun’s glaring rays at the magnificent bird.

Iris— _just as beautiful as the flower she is named for,_ Ignis thinks—blinks one of her large eyes at him but allows Ignis to put a hand on her side without protest, kwehing softly.

Gladio comes up behind Ignis without warning, close enough that his bare chest brushes along Ignis’s back. “What are you—?” Ignis is silenced by Gladio gripping his hips and lifting, though he kicks out in alarm, foot catching in one stirrup of the saddle. Iris clucks, wings flapping in indignation as her rider awkwardly climbs on top of her, clinging to the chocobo’s neck as if for dear life. Unable to help himself, Gladio’s laugh booms with glee.

“You needn’t manhandle me; I can manage on my own!” Ignis huffs in embarrassment. Gladio looks smug, not sorry whatsoever, and he pivots to prepare another chocobo who is waiting patiently behind him.

“It was a good enough excuse,” he says without looking, the question dangling between them.

Ignis, despite sensing the trap, asks it anyway. “Good enough excuse for what?”

He doesn’t respond right away, choosing instead to tighten the torso strap on his chocobo’s saddle. Gladio swings himself up with ease, not bothering to hold the reigns to steer the bird beside Ignis. Finally, he makes and holds eye contact as he winks, one lip curling up into a playful smirk.

“Good enough excuse to put my hands on ya, ‘course.”

Ignis is still gaping when Gladio squeezes his knees into his mount’s sides to urge his chocobo forward. Docile and obedient, Iris follows in her leader’s wake, and Ignis flails his arms to maintain his balance as the steady loping of the animal causes his body to bounce up and down.

“Hold on to the reigns,” Gladio calls over his shoulder, holding his own up in demonstration. “You can lead her if you want, but she’ll follow No-Name even if you don’t—oh, and make sure you squeeze your legs or you’re gonna slide off.”

If Ignis wasn’t so concerned with staying upright he would have critiqued Gladio’s choice of name for his bird. Or, rather, lack thereof. Fortunately for Gladio, he was much too busy trying not to faceplant.

They make several circles around the enclosed field until Ignis’s thinks he has the hang of it—that is, until Gladio lets out a whoop and digs his heels into No-Name’s sides. The chocobo takes off at a dead sprint, and just as he promised, Iris follows. Ignis has to grip with his entire body, muscles straining to keep from flying backward, and he lets out a small yelp of surprise that is drowned in Gladio’s raucous whoop.

“Hold on tight, Specs!” he shouts before sending No-Name barreling towards the fence, both chocobos picking up speed.

“Wait—!” Ignis gasps with alarm, gritting his teeth as his entire body tenses. Just when it seems like No-Name is going to collide headfirst into the fence, Gladio yanks suddenly on the reigns, sending his chocobo soaring up and over, gliding through the air.

“Ahh!” Ignis can’t help but yell when Iris jumps after them. Suddenly, they’re flying with the ground zooming beneath their feet, out of reach, and far too fast for Ignis’s comfort. His stomach flips like he has jumped from a tall building, eyes squeezing shut for a second as he catches the breath that he lost upon take-off. It seems like forever until the chocobo lands, though in reality, it’s a matter of seconds. As soon as Iris does, she takes off after Gladio and No-Name, the two now several strides ahead with zero signs of slowing. 

The countryside zooms by like a movie set to fast-forward, but eventually Ignis’s heart rate slows, his bunched muscles relax, and he is able to actually sit back and enjoy the experience. After a few minutes of leisurely riding, Gladio pulls on No-Name’s reigns until he and Iris are trotting side-by-side. Gladio glances over at Ignis, wearing an animalistic grin that does unspeakable things to Ignis’s heart. Without even meaning to, Ignis grins back.

There is something about the far-reaching planes, green and endless around them that make Ignis feel unburdened and reckless. It could be the beauty of the diverse greenery, overgrown after years of no human intervention, or the power of chocobo that runs effortlessly beneath him, energy worth envying, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the spirit that gleams in Gladio’s eyes, strange and yet familiar to all humans, the undeniable call of the wild that now rings in Ignis’s ears, beckoning him.

He can picture them doing this for many more days— _years_ —to come. Together. An unnamed voice whispers in Ignis’s mind, terrifyingly convincing: _This is where you belong._

* * *

The grueling manual labor may be enough to fatigue his body, but it does little to quiet Ignis’s mind. He cannot stop thinking about his chocobo ride with Gladio. He has scolded himself ever since, thinking: _You are a Scientia. Your place is in Insomnia and in the Citadel serving His Majesty—not in the middle of nowhere playing house with a man you barely know._

It’s not as if he hates his job or his work, quite the contrary in fact, but the time spent at the Amicitia Ranch has drawn a strong contrast with his life in the capital. To the long hours spent indoors reviewing reports or attending council meetings, the stress of politics and the busyness of city life, and the feeling of being alone, even in a room full of people. The endless gray of a concrete jungle and the monotonous drone of ‘progress’ and ‘routine.’

Ignis is the only one to rise from the bed in his apartment, and the only one to sleep in it at night. Day in and day out, nothing ever changes, and he’s not sure it ever will. It’s not that he hasn’t tried to have relationships in the past, but when your life is your work, there is time for little else. Before meeting Gladio, he thought that’s what he wanted, but now he’s not so sure.

And so, Ignis lies awake in the little farmhouse and listens to the creaks and groans, the sounds of Gladio moving in the room upstairs, imagining him stripping down to nothing in preparation for bed, perhaps reading one of the many books on his shelf as a way to wind down after a long day’s work.

_What a lovely mental image._

Ignis is nearly asleep when he hears the knock, so light that he misses it at first, but then it comes again, louder and more insistent. Shifting in the dark, Ignis frowns.

_Am I dreaming?_

“Hello?”

“Specs?” is the gentle reply.

_Not a dream then._

More awake now, Ignis fumbles for his glasses in the dark, turning on the bedside lamp once he locates them. He shrugs on a shirt as he is wearing only pajama pants, then slides out of bed to answer the door. When he does, he finds Gladio standing in the hall, fully dressed. He smiles in greeting. Ignis feels his knees wobble, but he stubbornly chalks it up to exhaustion—nothing more.

“Is something the matter?” Ignis asks, unsure why Gladio would be knocking on his door otherwise.

“No, nothin’s wrong.” There’s a brief pause, and Ignis can almost see the wheels turning in Gladio’s mind, his eyebrows drawing slightly together before smoothing. “I was thinking…since you’re used to the city, maybe you’d like to see the stars out here. It’s a pretty clear tonight—it’s perfect for it.” Gladio shoves his hands into his pockets, and if he weren’t such a strong-looking individual, Ignis might think he was nervous about something. 

Two voices make their cases in Ignis’s mind. One, the more practical, urges him to reply: _No sir, that’s quite all right. It is awfully late, and I mustn’t become more compromised than I already am_. The other, which has grown annoyingly louder with each passing day on the farm, wants to say: _I would love nothing more._ He bites his lip, and against his better judgment, follows his heart instead of his head.

“Very well. Stargazing sounds lovely.”

Gladio’s face reflects his disbelief, and he shifts awkwardly from side-to-side before saying, “Alright. Let me grab you a coat. It’s a little cold out there.” Ignis merely nods, watching as Gladio steps in and opens the closet, retrieving a thick leather jacket which he promptly hands to Ignis. It is too big for him, but he immediately feels warmer, and he notes the faint scent of campfire smoke that clings to the furry liner.

“This way,” Gladio says. He turns, expecting Ignis to follow, and Ignis does. They tread out of the front door of the house and through the silent fields surrounding the farm, all the way past the barn, down a gravel path, and over a gently sloping hill lined with trees. Ignis keeps his eyes on Gladio’s back the entire time, happy to see his broad shoulders relaxed for once. He’s so focused on the gentle swing of the man’s arms that he nearly runs into him when he stops.

Gladio turns, smile illuminated by moonlight. “Here we are, the best view in the house.”

Ignis looks away from him then. Up, up, into the night sky, filled with a million glittering diamonds, a sea of light in which the full moon floats, and he is rendered momentarily dizzy by the sheer scope of the universe as it swallows them whole.

He exhales, long and slow, breath creating a cloud that floats away like smoke into the darkness. Gladio is beaming with approval as he watches Ignis’s genuine reaction.

“This is…” There are no adequate words for it. _Marvelous? Magnificent? Beautiful?_ They all fall short. So Ignis says nothing, only barely managing to tear his eyes away from the endless expanse when Gladio speaks.

“You won’t find this in the city,” Gladio says, but it’s not meant to be a boast, just a simple fact. Their eyes meet, and a shiver runs from the nape of Ignis neck down to his toes. Silently, he agrees.

“Have you…ever been to the city?” Ignis asks, carefully, hoping the inquiry doesn’t cause Gladio to retreat into himself as he tends to when asked anything personal. To Ignis’s surprise, he nods, staring back up to the stars.

“Yeah, I grew up in a city,” he confesses. “But…it wasn’t for me. I’m a lot happier here.”

Ignis slides his hands into the pockets of the coat Gladio loaned him, fingers now numb from the cold. He notes the deep lines of Gladio’s face as the man frowns before joining him in stargazing.

“My life in the city can be trying at times. I was born into it—a family tradition—but I never thought about living anywhere else until now,” Ignis admits, surprised at his own words.

“So why don’t you?” Gladio asks, sitting down abruptly. Ignis joins him in the frost-bitten grass, leaving an arm’s length between him and his host, and both men wrap their arms around their knees, gazes still focused skyward.

“I could never leave my position. Too many people are counting on me. Although, when I was younger, I dreamed about running away. Becoming a chef, perhaps.” Ignis isn’t sure why he is telling Gladio this, but he imagines it is similar to how people feel comfortable telling their bartenders and hairdressers about their life as opposed to their closest friends. There is the knowledge that even if they told anyone, it has little to no real-world repercussions—and who would Gladio tell Ignis’s secrets to, anyway? 

“You still could, y’know,” Gladio murmurs, barely a whisper. “I did, and it was the best decision I ever made.”

Ignis shakes his head, mostly to himself. There is something tempting about Gladio’s words, something that pulls at Ignis’s heart in a way that he’s never felt before. He isn’t sure if he trusts himself to speak, so he doesn’t answer immediately.

“It’s not possible. Not for me,” he finally decides, and although Gladio doesn’t comment, Ignis can feel the man’s disappointment in the way his shoulders sag.

They sit in silence until the cold is too much, and Gladio leads Ignis back to the house, bidding him goodnight as they walk in the door. Ignis watches Gladio begin to trudge up the stairs, and something unexpected rises up in his throat, spilling out before he can stop it.

“Gladio?” Ignis calls. Gladio stops, looking down at him curiously. “Thank you. For the wonderful evening, and for your hospitality. The stars were simply breathtaking.”

Gladio’s slow, wide smile is warmer than his coat that Ignis still wears. “Right back at ya, Specs.”

Ignis stands at the bottom of the stairs long after Gladio disappears into his bedroom, trying to make sense of the feeling that now occupies every bit of space inside his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Something shifts between the two men after that night, as if invisible walls were lowered, allowing an easiness to permeate the space they share. Ignis wakes up before the sun the next day, joining Gladio on his morning rounds. They work in wordless tandem and take their coffee together on the porch.

When it comes time to venture out into the pastures, Ignis mounts Iris with ease, stripping his shirt to his waist as the sun reaches its pinnacle in the sky. Gladio allows one eyebrow to arc and whistles low in approval.

“Well, look who’s gone native.”

“Careful, or I’ll snatch the ropes out of your hands,” Ignis retorts in good humor. Hitting his heels gently against the chocobo’s sides, he lets Iris press ahead of Gladio, throwing his head back with a jubilant shout. Gladio urges his own mount on, and they bound through the countryside, unrestricted.

When all the livestock have been accounted for and the chores finished, Ignis and Gladio come to stop by a stream, giving themselves and their chocobos a chance to rest. The two men sit a little further down the bank from their steeds, pant legs rolled up and bare feet submerged in the rush of cool water.

“All we need now is a cold drink,” Gladio says, swinging his legs to kick up a splash of droplets. Ignis shivers as they hit his naked chest only to have them promptly evaporate in the heat.

“Indeed.” Ignis squints up at the cloudless blue sky, spying an eagle circling lazily overhead. “Quite the life you lead out here,” he comments, thinking back on their conversation from the previous evening.

“I’m lucky,” Gladio agrees readily. “You know, Specs, you’ve been more helpful than I thought. If you wanted to stay on a bit longer, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” The statement comes as Gladio folds his hands between his knees, looking down as river water swirls about his legs. Ignis bites back his knee-jerk response of ‘I can’t’ to seriously consider the proposition.

The silence begins to stretch long, and Gladio eventually jerks his head in Ignis’s direction, side-eyeing him. “I’d be happy to have you.” He rubs a hand across the back of his tanned neck sheepishly. “Never noticed how lonely it gets out here until you arrived, in fact.” Ignis’s green eyes double in size and he jerks back a little. “You don’t have to answer right away—"

“Gladio,” Ignis interrupts in a hiss, making his friend frown. He scrambles into a crouched position, and Gladio tenses, taking the strong reaction as a resounding ‘no.’

“If you’re that opposed—” he begins to say, hurt showing on his face, but Ignis doesn’t let him complete the sentence.

“Look out!”

Things happen fast after that.

Summoning twin daggers as if from thin air, a glow of azure follows Ignis’s hands as the blades leave his palms as quickly as they appeared. The weapons flash towards Gladio, and he freezes, inhaling with force to prepare for impact. They zip past him though, sounding with a _thud-thud_ as they find their mark behind him. A terrible screech follows the sound, causing the chocobos to startle and bolt.

Gladio turns around so fast that his head spins, and he manages to see the tail of a voretooth disappear beneath the water’s surface as the beast crumples and is swept away by the river. Ignis is at Gladio’s side in seconds, fingers curling around his shoulders in concern.

“Are you all right? I’m sorry, there was no time to explain,” he exhales in a rush. Gladio shakes his head from side-to-side, still recovering from his shock.

“I…didn’t even hear it sneak up on me,” Gladio gapes. “Quick thinking, Specs, thanks. Guess I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ignis insists, hands still firmly wrapped around the dense muscle of Gladio’s upper arm. A few seconds pass, neither of the men moving. Ignis’s heart is still running circles in his chest from the surge of adrenaline. Eventually, Gladio’s gaze drops to Ignis’s hand before covering it slowly with one of his own.

Ignis inhales, the noise barely audible, but doesn’t pull back. Gladio’s hazel eyes search Ignis’s face and it is as if a crackle of electricity sparks between them, making the hair on their bodies stand on end. With a tug on Ignis’s forearm, Gladio draws him in against his chest.

Some say that time seems to stand still when they kiss someone, or that they see fireworks—that it’s a magical moment where nothing else matters. For Ignis, kissing Gladio is entirely different than of those things. He becomes more aware of everything around him, of how the river rushes past while they sit still, of the chirping of insects along the bank, and of the soft cooing of the chocobos that stand in the corner of his eye. He notices how Gladio’s lips are impossibly soft as opposed to his rough facial hair, which tickles against Ignis’s cheek as their mouths come together. And, he is acutely aware of the midday heat, and how sweat slides down his back even as he shivers.

It isn’t until Gladio pulls away, smiling that butter-melting smile of his, that everything seems to come to a grinding halt.

 _What just happened?_ Ignis wonders. He can’t explain why he hops up suddenly, hurrying towards Iris with his face paling as if he’d just seen a ghost. Nor can he give a good reason for why he doesn’t answer when Gladio gets to his feet, calling after him.

“Hey! Specs! Wait a minute!”

All Ignis knows is that he cannot stay a second longer with Gladio, or else… He doesn’t let his mind finish the thought, slinging himself up and onto the chocobo’s back before yanking forcefully on the reigns. Iris responds instantly, absorbing Ignis’s anxiety and his need to flee. She makes a mad dash. The pounding of the animal’s feet echoes in Ignis’s ears in time to his racing pulse, and he keeps his eyes trained on the horizon, never looking back to see if Gladio is following him. 

* * *

Ignis avoids Gladio for the rest of the day, shutting himself in his room as soon after he returns Iris to the corral, but there is only so much he can do to distract himself from the events of the afternoon. At first, he attempts to read some of the books on the shelf, but nothing can hold his attention long enough to keep insidious thoughts from creeping in. Sleep seems to be the only other option, but he tosses and turns, anxiety churning in his stomach and keeping him awake.

It is long after the sun goes down before Ignis ultimately gives up on getting any shut-eye. His stomach has now made him painfully aware of how hungry he is, having skipped dinner in his attempt to delay confronting Gladio again. But it’s dark now, and the house is quiet, so Ignis gives in to his body’s demands for sustenance, tiptoeing out of his room and into the farmhouse’s kitchen.

He scrounges through the fridge, ultimately deciding on a slab of cheese that he plans on pairing with some bread and is straightening when he hears the thud of footsteps. There isn’t enough time to flee without being seen, and as a muscled silhouette looms into view, Ignis does his best to appear nonchalant—like he belongs there, despite the fact he feels like he doesn’t.

Lights flicker on, blinding him temporarily, and when Ignis is able to open them again, an image of Gladio comes into view. The rancher is shirtless, as is to be expected, but what _isn’t_ to be expected is the white towel wrapped low over his hips, barely long enough to cover the tops of the man’s thighs, and long hair down and damp, assumedly from showering. They both freeze, eyes widening in mutual horror, and Ignis turns away, set on returning to his room.

“My apologies,” he mutters, feeling heat rushing into his cheeks.

“Wait— _please_!” And maybe it is a mistake that he will regret later, but Ignis stops, hand gripping the doorknob to the guest room as he looks back, surveying Gladio with what he hopes is a neutral expression.

“We can’t do this,” Ignis says calmly, and he watches pain and disappointment flash in Gladio’s eyes.

“Why not?” It’s not with anger that he asks, but with a deeply seeded hurt, and it makes Ignis’s heart ache.

“Because, Gladiolus Amicitia, I do not belong here. And neither do you.” The statement is as effective as a bullet through the heart, just as Ignis knew it would be, and it causes Gladio to step back, hand leaning on the wooden dining table to keep himself from slumping forward.

“…what?” Gladio’s tone is dangerously low, nearly a growl, and although it sparks fear in Ignis he doesn’t back down.

Angling to face him fully now, Ignis shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “You belong in Insomnia, just as I do, as the rightful heir to the Amicitia family—the King’s Shields. Unlike you, I will not merely abandon everything in pursuit of some fantasy life.” He bites his lip as he scans Gladio’s now slack-jawed face, taking in a ragged breath. It hurts— _everything_ hurts—but now that he has started, he finds he cannot stop. “So please. Do not ask me to stay here with you. My duty comes first, as it should.”

Silence overwhelms the room, so deafening that it blocks out even the desperate drumming of Ignis’s pulse. Ironically, time seems to be suspended. Hanging in the delicate balance is Gladio on one side, Ignis on the other. Eventually, Gladio scoffs, and Ignis feels the scales tip unevenly, his world careening out of control.

“Who are you to lecture me?” comes Gladio’s snarl, vicious and deadly, ripping through Ignis’s chest so that the guest presses back against the bedroom door. He takes a few steps towards Ignis, muscles tensed like some wild beast. “You know _nothing_ about what I have been through!” he shouts, voice vibrating in the rafters. Ignis meets his gaze then, green melding into gold, and he watches as Gladio slams a fist down on the table, the wood splintering on impact. 

There is a roar that follows, and for a moment, Ignis thinks that it came from Gladio, but when he whirls around, Ignis realizes it came from something else entirely. They both hold their breaths, listening as dread overtakes them. Chocobos are warbling frantically outside, and it is enough for Gladio to rush from the room, thundering up the stairs with deadly intent.

“What is it?” Ignis calls after him, following hesitantly.

“It’s not your problem,” Gladio snaps. There is the sound of things being thrown and drawers opening and slamming frantically as Ignis moves to stand at the bottom of the stairs. Another roar pierces the night, louder and closer this time, and Ignis opens the door, worriedly glancing outside. A second later, Gladio shoves past him, a large broadsword slung over his back.

Not giving up on his questioning, Ignis trails Gladio across the yard and towards the field where previously sleeping chocobos are now dancing anxiously in circles. “A daemon?” Gladio ignores Ignis’s inquiry, whistling as he jumps the fence into the corral, and No-Name sprints over, allowing Gladio to mount him with no equipment. The chocobo is warbling, feathers ruffled.

Gladio’s mouth sets into a thin line as he pats the bird in an attempt to calm it. “Don’t worry, Specs. The car parts came in today, and I’ll make sure you’re gone by tomorrow. This is somethin’ for me to worry about, not you.”

Huffing indignantly, Ignis retorts: “Gladio, let me help you, for Astrals’ sakes!”

The man’s expression doesn’t change as he meets Ignis’s steely gaze with one of his own. “You’ll just slow me down. Stay here,” Gladio orders. Without any further explanation, he digs his heels into the chocobo, and it glides over the fence and into the darkness beyond effortlessly, the ground trembling in the wake of another fearsome bellow from the unknown creature hidden in the night.

Ignis waits until Gladio and his steed vanish from sight before running back to the house to search for his shoes.

* * *

Iris is all too eager to follow after No-Name, and she needs little to no prompting from her rider to do so. She sprints, causing the cold night air to batter Ignis’s face, chilling him to the bone. He clings to the chocobo’s neck and sides with his limbs like Gladio taught him, body aching from the effort, but the discomfort it causes him pales in comparison to the fear that needles beneath his skin.

 _Something is very wrong_ , Ignis thinks as dark shapes whip past him at dizzying speeds. He’s not sure what has possessed him to go after Gladio, defying his direct order to remain behind. All he knows is that if something were to happen to him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he stood idly by.

They follow the ominous roars through a thick patch of trees, every step causing them to grow louder. Once they clear the greenery, Iris grinds to a halt with a startled cry, and the abrupt stop sends Ignis flying through the air as his fingers grasp in vain for something to hold onto. He lands hard in the dirt several feet away, and it knocks the breath from him as he tumbles head over heels, eventually sliding to a stuttered stop.

Ignis presses himself up on hands and knees, groaning, only to realize his glasses have fallen off on impact. His hands sweep the grass for them, noting the sound of ringing metal and monstrous footfalls that are too close for comfort. As soon as Ignis feels the cool metal of his glasses’ frames, he shoves them on his face, eyes darting up to survey the scene before him.

For the briefest moment, his heart stops beating in his chest.

There, outlined by stars with eyes glowing red, is the dark silhouette of a giant behemoth. The monster seems to be circling around something with deliberate steps, breath creating a swath of moisture that drifts across the plain like fog. As the moonlight filters through the clouds, Ignis can barely make out the sheen of metal within it—Gladio’s sword—held in two hands by the capable fighter. Upon closer inspection, he can see that it is tinted dark with blood, and Ignis’s veins turn to ice.

Slowly, stagnant breath burning holes in his lungs, Ignis crouches, inching closer to the standoff that is in front of him and summoning his twin daggers from the magic armiger he shares with his liege.

Everything seems to move in slow motion from then on. Like when he kissed Gladio, Ignis is keenly aware of everything. The blades of grass moving in the wind’s sigh, the jagged exhale of the behemoth, of Gladio’s strong arms tensing before his attack. When the daemon rears back, talons flashing as if in warning, its roar is more powerful than an earthquake. It is pure adrenaline that makes Ignis’s legs move quicker than they ever have, heading towards danger instead of away from it even as his mind screams at him to do otherwise. 

When Gladio’s blade meets flesh and bone, time speeds up and events occur in quick succession. There is a rumble of pain as the daemon flails, shouts as Gladio sidesteps a tree-trunk sized limb. There are screams when a tail whips past ( _did that come from me?_ Ignis will later wonder). Ignis vaults the deadly appendage, but Gladio does not. There is a thud and a sickening crunch, as Gladio is sent flying yards away, his sword disappearing into the night, and the daemon turns to follow, moving faster than anything its size should.

“Gladio!” Ignis yells, rendered breathless from the spurt of activity, but already running towards the fallen warrior.

The body on the ground isn’t moving, and Ignis fears the worst, but there isn’t time to process. There is only time to react.

Moving at a dead sprint, Ignis flings one dagger towards the behemoth, body operating on muscle memory. Its blade, burning bright with the flames that magically ignite around it, find their mark. Ignis knows this by the angered snarl that the behemoth emits, causing it to flip around with the weapon still blazing in-between its shoulder blades. The fire spreads rapidly, making it appear as if the behemoth has a glowing mane—a blood-curdling sight. 

The next dagger that Ignis releases streaks blue, a beacon in the dark, and at the exact same time it wedges into the creature’s skull, Ignis’s body finds its way to it, magically warping through space. The man holds onto the hilt with both hands, bracing himself for what inevitably happens next—the behemoth rears up on both legs, screeching so loud that Ignis’s ears pop, pressure rising in his head until his brain rattles in his skull.

The daemon bucks and thrashes, but Ignis holds tight, praying that his weapon won’t pull free, and him with it. Luckily, his blade holds true, and as soon as the behemoth stumbles sideways, Ignis jerks the dagger with violent efficiency, cutting a large swath from crown to jaw.

Ignis can only hear a dull ringing after the behemoth collapses lifelessly, and for a moment he is afraid that his eardrums might have ruptured. As the beast slumps forward Ignis is unable to hold on any longer. When he is flung through the sky he witnesses a blurred river of stars rush by him before everything comes to a stop.

Silence rains down, smothering his senses. He breathes, and the pain that results is enough to tell him he is alive.

It takes some time before he is able to sit up, and when he does, dizziness makes bile surge in his throat. He inhales slowly to keep it down, somehow finding his feet.

“Gladio?”

Ignis’s voice sounds far away and has an echoey quality. Seconds stretch long until he finds the man lying face-down in the grass. Ignis struggles at first to turn him onto his back, Gladio now limp and heavy. Fingers slide to the unconscious man’s carotid artery as he mutters a silent prayer.

It takes a few seconds, but Ignis feels a faint thump-thump beneath his fingers. He releases a shuddered sigh of relief, flopping down beside his unconscious companion to stare blankly at the twinkling lights above. 

_You won’t find this in the city._

“…Specs, that you?” Gladio’s voice is like broken glass, sharp and uneven.

“Yes, it’s me,” Ignis says, not daring to look over. He’s afraid he won’t like what he sees.

“You saved me.” There’s an undertone of awe to the statement, and Ignis gives the smallest of nods, not even sure if Gladio will see it. After a long pause, and Ignis closes his eyes, sweat now cooling and causing him to shiver. “Why?” Gladio asks.

Ignis, too exhausted for niceties, laughs. “Because…” He searches for the reason. _Because you belong with me_. _I didn’t want to lose you._ The thought surprises him, and he quiets as an invisible weight settles on his chest. When he looks over, he can barely see Gladio staring at him with wonder, a streak of dried blood covering one side of his face.

Ignis tries to find safer ground. “What were you thinking taking on that thing alone? You could have died.” Ignis is stunned by his own voice—the vehemence and passion behind his words.

Gladio’s face pulls in on itself as he sits up with a grunt, meeting Ignis’s anger with his own. “I told you to stay at the house. I would have managed just fine if I didn’t have you to worry about.”

Ignis sits up, temper flaring. He ignores the way the world spins when he does. “You call being knocked unconscious ‘managing’?” he scoffs, indignant. “What would have happened to the farm if you had died?” Ignis’s hands clench into fists, and he is amazed to find they are shaking from the force of his worry. Quieting, he asks: “What would have happened to me?”

Even in the dim light, Ignis can see Gladio’s features darken, and it makes his stomach drop with apprehension. “Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about, huh?”

“…what?” Ignis’s spits out the question, chest tight.

The rancher’s head tilts up, moonlight highlighting the man’s wicked smirk and hardened eyes. “Wouldn’t make it back to your beloved Insomnia if I’m not around to fix your car, is that it?”

Something snaps inside of Ignis then, and he can feel his emotions rise in him like a volcano about to erupt. His mouth is opening before he can think better of it, and the words ring out in the night, faster and more deadly than his daggers.

“This isn’t about the _blasted_ car! It’s about _you_!” 

The tension between the men is tauter than a rubber band about to break. Ignis’s teeth clench together so that his jaw aches, every muscle wound tight. He wants to fight, but he also wants to run. Gladio is the first to make a move though, pushing past Ignis so that their shoulders bump together roughly, and his fury is colder than the wind that snaps across the open field. It leaves Ignis feeling numb and empty.

He listens to Gladio’s footsteps fade into the dark, only turning around once he can no longer hear them. Ignis’s long walk back to the sleeping farmhouse is made even more excruciating thanks to the barbed thoughts flying through his head. 

_You should have just let him be. Now you will leave on poor terms._

_And he must know now—the power he has over you._

_Emotions make you weak, Ignis._ He _has made you weak._

When he enters the front door, Ignis stops to listen for Gladio, but he hears nothing, not even the slightest rustle or creak. Ignis makes his way to back to his room, shutting the door and locking it firmly behind him with a sense of finality. As he shrugs out of his clothes and finds his pajamas, he catches a glimpse of something outside the window.

The light in the barn is on, casting a long band across the yard.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Ignis walks over to peer through the blinds, one hand gripping the windowsill as he debates silently with himself. 

_No, leave him be. You’ll be gone soon enough, and that will be the end of it._

After a long moment, Ignis sighs, closes the curtains, and lays down on the bed, but even with his eyes shut the faint glow from outside permeates into the room, serving as a constant reminder that he isn’t the only one who’s not able to sleep.

* * *

Ignis is up with the sun, mostly because he can’t stand lying in bed with his own thoughts any longer. Predictably, Gladio is already awake—he can tell by the empty coffee mug in the sink and the sounds of power tools whirring beyond the thin walls of the farmhouse.

_Did he sleep at all?_

Ignis takes his time, trying to wrangle his thoughts and emotions into a semblance of order, only for them to run wild and free through his head and heart, untamable. He eventually gives up, forgoing breakfast altogether, and pads out into the yard still wearing his pajamas.

He can see Gladio through the open barn doors, waist-deep inside Ignis’s vehicle, and half-hidden by the popped hood, and the sight shoots an inexplicable pain through his heart. His jeans sag low on his hips, weighed down by the tool belt he is wearing.

Barefoot, Ignis walks over, hesitating in the entryway, unsure if he should draw any closer.

Gladio straightens at the sound of his approach, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and only succeeding in smearing it with black grease. Seeing Ignis, he stops, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Come to lecture me some more?” he says. His words are barbed, defenses up.

“No,” Ignis replies demurely. “I came to apologize. Last night, I overstepped. You’re right, what you do with your life is none of my business. Once the car is up and running, I will take my leave.”

“Huh,” Gladio grunts, bending back over the car. He tinkers with something idly, eyebrows furrowing as he speaks. “Not like the king’s advisor to give up so easily.”

Ignis wants to laugh—or maybe cry _. Of course_ Gladio knows who he is. After all, had they both not been sizing one another up from the moment they met? He wonders when he figured it out. Maybe the night they had dinner and they quoted the Cosmogony? Or perhaps the time Ignis had used magic to water the crops, or when he summoned his daggers to save Gladio from an unsuspecting attack from the voretooth.

It didn’t matter now, but Ignis has nothing left to lose. “When did you…?”

A ghost of a smile can be seen on Gladio’s lips. “When you introduced yourself. There’s only one family by the name of Scientia in all of Lucis. The King’s Swords, they’re called. Any Shield would know that.”

“Ah.”

There it is. The truth laid bare at last.

Gladio twists hard with his wrench, sighing before finally turning to Ignis again. “When I was a teenager, my father sent me out into the wilderness to fend for myself. An Amicitia family tradition, the ‘Tempering of the Shield,’ it’s called. When I felt ready, I would undergo the Trial of Gilgamesh. Those who survive become the King’s Shield. Those who didn’t…well, you already know.”

An unnamed emotion clenches violently in Ignis’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. “You failed the trial, and rather than living with the shame, ran away, allowing everyone to presume you were dead,” he surmises.

“You got it, partner,” Gladio laughs mirthlessly. “I thought about going back at one point, but too much time had passed. It’d be too awkward. Then, the owner of this ranch died, and nobody stuck around, ‘cept me. That stupid Amicitia stubbornness came out. I might have failed as a Shield, but I would be damned if I gave up on this place that had welcomed me with open arms.” Gladio brandishes his tool like a sword, waving it at Ignis. “The only way I’m leaving now is in a casket. So, thanks for the offer, but I can’t take you up on it.”

Ignis nods, finally understanding. His heart aches as he watches Gladio continue working on his vehicle, knowing that once he completes his task, they will say their goodbyes.

“I met you once before, you know,” Gladio says in his casual way, not looking up. “I remember it plain as day, though you probably don’t. It was in a training bout. Introduced myself as the future Shield and everything, then got my ass handed to me by this beanpole of a thing. I was piping mad. You know what you said after you helped me up?”

Ignis, mouth having gone dry, can only shake his head ‘no.’

Gladio snickers. “You said, ‘it’s nothing special. I bet even you could learn how to do it if you applied yourself.’ Six, I hated you for the longest time, but you wouldn’t even look down your nose at me—and I hated that even more.” Ignis blushes from head-to-toe, mortified as he hears the words he had forgotten recited back to him.

_Was I really so self-assured, even then?_

Now that Gladio mentions it, Ignis _does_ have a vague memory of that day, although many years have passed, and the last piece of the puzzle falls into place. Why everything felt so comfortable around Gladio, how _infuriating_ he was. From the beginning, they had been meant to work together, two sides of the same coin. Sword and Shield.

Then, Gladio had disappeared as a child, leaving Ignis to fend for himself. Alone.

“That should do it,” Gladio announces abruptly, rubbing the last bit of grease on his jeans and adding to the dirt and blood stains on them from his fight with the behemoth. An unseen battle raging inside of him, Ignis remains silent. “You can go now,” he says, tone softening.

The moment of truth is lost. Stiffly, Ignis nods once. “I’ll go retrieve my things then,” he agrees, turning to do just that.

It doesn’t take long for Ignis to change and gather his lone suitcase, and by the time he returns to the barn to climb into the driver’s seat the mood over the ranch is akin to the morning of a funeral, somber and reserved. Gladio leans against the wall with his arms folded, chin tucked slightly as he watches Ignis place his luggage in the trunk. His attempt at nonchalance falls short as he glances away, more sulky than apathetic, but Ignis pretends not to notice—because accepting the emotion behind it would mean acknowledging his own feelings, a luxury he does not have.

Turning the key in the ignition sets the car engine purring, with no coughs or sputters. _He really did it,_ Ignis thinks, no longer surprised by his disappointment. Putting the vehicle in reverse, Ignis rolls down the window, ensuring he speaks loud enough to be heard over its hum.

“…thank you for everything.” He knows that it’s trite, but he can’t leave without saying something.

Gladio lifts his head, mouth opening, then closing. Ignis holds his breath, eyebrows raising hopefully as he forces a smile. “…You’re welcome.”

Short, simple, and utterly dissatisfying.

Rolling the window back up, Ignis pulls out of the open doors and turns around in the gravel, heading down the long drive that will take him back to the main road. He can barely make out Gladio’s stoic form through the dust that kicks up in the rearview. It grows smaller and smaller until it vanishes.

He drives without onward numbly, passing the fields he and Gladio once rode through together, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

**> >> **

The last breaths of fall have been suffocated by a crisp winter frost, and Gladio can see his own breath as he organizes his tools in the barn amidst the morning’s quiet. He has kept the sliding doors open for a couple weeks now despite the unforgiving temperatures, spending more time than he cares to admit looking down the gravel path towards the highway searching for something he knows he has no business wishing for.

 _He’s gone, and he’s not coming back._ And yet, the doors stay open.

When Gladio hears the low rumble of an engine he doesn’t look up at first, assuming it is just traffic passing by and nothing to concern himself with. But then it grows louder, and he stops, the flicker of hope so strong inside him that he looks out into the gray horizon.

 _Like a dog waiting for its master_ , he thinks wryly.

Somehow, his heart knows before his eyes.

It’s a car all right—black and sleek—he sees it through the cloud of dirt it creates and inhales sharply, setting down the hammer in his hand to step outside, fur-lined coat suddenly too hot for him. The vehicle pulls up slowly, stopping well in front of the barn, but the door swings open in haste as Ignis climbs out, pale cheeks flushed. Whether it’s from the weather or something else, Gladio isn’t sure.

Ignis is dressed like he was the first day they met, in slacks and a pinstripe button down, except this time he has a gray pea coat on, blending in with the winter sky.

Gladio is speechless, although he has had plenty of time to consider what he would say if they ever met again. All his painstakingly planned speeches are swept aside now, left to drown in the brilliant green of Ignis’s eyes, but this time, when Gladio meets them there is no pain and no hurt—just a mutual respect, and dare he say it— _love_.

“I…” Ignis swallows hard. Gladio stares, not daring to blink or move for fear that Ignis might disappear if he does. There is something about Ignis that destroys all of Gladio’s carefully constructed defenses, rendering him helpless, and judging by the city slicker’s blush, he can only assume he does the same to him.

“It’s very easy to get lost out here,” Ignis finally blurts.

Gladio’s head tilts to the side, an exact replica of his expression from the first day they had met, cautiously intrigued and hopeful.

“To go missing wouldn’t be unheard of, what with behemoths running amuck and such.” Gladio blinks once, then twice, wandering over to place one hand on the car’s hood and lean his weight against it.

Ignis speaks quickly then, as if trying to get everything out before his resolve fails. “What I am saying is—I could stay—if it were still agreeable. Maybe help out some more around the farm until you grow sick of me.” Gladio’s grin is slow to form, but it overtakes his entire face as the initial shock wears off. Ignis’s blush deepens to a rich crimson.

“His Majesty won’t miss you?” Gladio murmurs. He is in front of Ignis, body close enough to reach out and touch, something he has been dreaming of doing for too long.

“Oh, he most certainly will,” Ignis laughs. In it, Gladio hears the insecurity and fear. He wants to lay all of Ignis’s concerns to rest, but he isn’t a man of many words—he’s a man of action.

Decisive and sure, Gladio removes Ignis’s glasses before running one calloused thumb over the advisor’s cheek. Ignis’s eyes flutter closed as he inhales, but he doesn’t shy away like he did at the riverbed weeks prior, leaning into the contact instead.

When Gladio brings his head down, Ignis tilts his head up slightly, their lips coming to meet. Gladio’s kiss isn’t rushed. Slow and passionate, it sparks passion inside them that catches, burning into a flame that glows bright and steady under Ignis’s sternum. When it ends, their foreheads press together, and the men rest in the warmth between them. 

“Partners?” Ignis laughs. There is no trace of doubt in his words this time.

“Mr. Scientia, it would be my pleasure,” Gladio jokes, sliding his arms around to grip his companion’s hips tightly. He has no plans to let go of them anytime soon.

“Ignis,” the man corrects good-naturedly.

“Ignis,” Gladio repeats, his voice a gentle caress. The advisor’s heart stutter-steps at the sound of his name in Gladio’s mouth. Then he brings his lips against his again—and again—and again.

A winter wind blows; they no longer feel its chill.


End file.
